herever I went, and have new shoes whenever I wanted
them, and I would try singing too. I came here first because the doctor
has always been so pleasant to me and so good to us all."

"You have made a real beginning," said the brother-in-law.--"Gustaf,
take round the hat."

The doctor's son ran for his cap. There was a chinking and a silver
flash as the uncle put his hand into the cap. Something of the same kind
happened when it came to the doctor's turn to contribute. The mother
fumbled confusedly in her pocket, and found only her handkerchief. The
boys tossed in conspicuously some coppers of their own, perhaps with the
idea of covering, by their munificence, the evident discomfiture of
their mother.

"There! there!" said the uncle. "Hand the cap to the little girl. What
is in it is for the singer. As for the shoes, I'll see about that.--I
would not advise you, though, little Tora, to try singing to make
money. It might do for Jenny Lind, but I hardly think it would suit for
you."

The little girl's countenance fell. The friendly stranger went on, "How
would you like to be a little schoolmistress? That would be a nice way
for you to take care of yourself, and maybe help all at home, by-and-by.
I know how that thing is done, and I think we could manage it."

The uncle did know "how that thing was done," and who meant to do it.
Little Tora was provided for from that day; and so, if she did not sing
like Jenny Lind, she sang herself into being a schoolmistress--a little
schoolmistress of the very best order.

CHAPTER II.

FACING THE WORLD.

It was five o'clock in the morning on one of the last days of August.
This was no legally-sanctioned Swedish moving-day, and yet it was plain
that with somebody a change of residence was in progress.

Before a low house on a winding "cobble-stone" paved street two long,
narrow wagons were standing. Their horses faced in different directions,
though in all other respects the two establishments were, even to their
loading, like a pair of twins. In each was the furniture for one simple
room, a sofa-bed being the striking article in the inventory. A
carefully-packed basket of china, a few primitive cooking utensils, and
some boxes and packages indicated, if not good cheer, at least something
to keep soul and body together.

The outer door of the house was locked at last, and the key had been
handed to a humble woman, who courtesied and took it as a matter of
form; thou